Page 150 of Bad Attitude
I pat my pockets, but I have nothing. We’re down to our ’chutes and guns, and the gap around the door is barely a finger’s width.
Dario presses something into Cole’s hand, and Cole does a double-take before jamming it against the frame, takes a pace back, then kicks it hard, wedging it into place. Red light gleams off the gold bar.
“Most expensive door jamb in the world,” Dario mutters.
“That only buys us seconds,” Kurt says, standing and shoving his gun away. “Let’s go.”
Cole points toward the ocean and we all run to the west parapet wall, checking our straps. “Into the wind. Raven, you’re first, turn south only after your ’chute’s open. Declan, north.”
“Got it.”
Behind us, someone hits the door. I don’t look around, staring instead at the city nine hundred feet beneath us. Lights and people, cars in the night, so many goddamn buildings to avoid.
“On my count,” Cole says. “Raven.”
I don’t have time to think, just leap. The wind rushes past me, and it feels so different from jumping out of a helicopter. It’swrong, on so many levels, my instincts screaming at me. The street races up as I focus on getting my body position right, pulling my cord as soon as I can.
“Declan.”
I barely hear Cole’s voice in my ear, but then my canopy opens, catching the wind with a snap, and I’m jerked in my straps. Immediately, I reach for the toggles, turning left, crosswind. The building is awfully close, windows flashing past.
“Kurt.”
There are barely seconds between us. I should be focusing on my direction, but I twist, trying to see that the others have clean opens. Declan’s canopy is good. Kurt’s goes up.
“Dario.”
I can’t look anymore; my direction’s taking me away from them. I’ve already drifted a block, but I’m falling fast. The street beneath me is wide and open… save for the cars driving down it. Almost ten p.m. on a Sunday night; not as busy as it could be. Busier than I would like.
Someone grunts over the mic, and it’s pained.
“Cole?”Kurt checks.
There’s no answer for the longest three seconds of my life.
“I’m shot,”Cole gasps back eventually.“They came through as I jumped.”
“How bad?”
“My back. They hit the ’chute.”A hiss of pain loud enough to be heard. “Checking.”Another long silence.“Missed the suspension lines,”he grunts out.“Holes in the canopy. Falling fast, not going to reach my LZ.”
“We have you, Cole.”Cammy’s voice.“Go straight west. We’ll pick you up.”
The street is coming up rapidly. I’m supposed to hit the intersection, find a safe place to touch down, then run for my bike. But the cross wind is stronger than I thought, and I’ve already overflown it.
At the last moment, I flare the canopy and turn sharply, landing on a sedan parked right beneath me. I dent its hood, stumble forward, then fall off it onto my knees, grunting at the impact. The canopy hits the wall, snagging, pulling at my straps, and I struggle to get the buckles undone.
“Down and safe,” I gasp out.
“Down and safe,”Declan echoes a second later.
“Raven, move it.”Cammy’s voice.“You have security after you. They’re two blocks away. SUV.”
Shit.“Roger.”
“Do you need help?”Declan asks, tone urgent.
Idiot. What’s he going to do?
